Chapter 7 #2
The cup stopped moving. Neither did anything about their hands.
Her skin was warm. He could feel the fine bones beneath his fingers, the slight pressure as she held the vessel in place. He had touched strangers, friends, wounded people, more bodies than he wished to count in the past few days.
This small contact made him hesitate.
The ridges pressed harder against his clothes. His hand began to close around hers, and he checked the pressure before it could trap her fingers against the cup. She was near enough for him to breathe her in. Leaving his hand still took effort.
“I think we've saved it,” she said.
He looked at the cup.
“So we have.”
He lifted his hand. Sereya did not immediately move hers.
“You needn't look so concerned,” she said softly. “I didn't mind.”
That went through him more effectively than the touch.
“Neither did I.”
For a moment the water seemed very loud.
Sereya settled the cup on the bench between them, where it should have been in the first place. He watched her try to recover her composure and had the decency to attempt the same himself.
“Do you miss your home?” she asked.
He turned toward her.
“When you're here,” she added. “You said something about your father. Does he live nearby?”
“On the dark side, by the refineries. That's where I grew up.”
“What's it like?”
“Noisy. Even in the house you can hear the machinery. When I first slept away from it, I thought something had broken.”
She smiled. “Because it was quiet?”
“I went looking for someone to report it to.”
“How old were you?”
“Old enough that I won't be answering that question.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I might like the dark side.”
“Most of our visitors aren't eager to hear about ore crushers.”
“The stars,” she said. “Can you see them?”
“Beyond the refinery lights. More than you can count.”
The smile softened on her mouth. She looked past him, toward the pale strip of sky above the courtyard wall.
“I'd like that.”
He could have asked why. Where she had watched them before. There was a protected notice in his memory, and a whole life behind it that she had not offered him.
He left it there.
“There's a terrace behind my father's house,” he said. “My brother used to insist someone had to tell the stars good night before he could go to bed.”
“All of them?”
“Every one. It was an excellent way to remain awake.”
“Did you help?”
“For longer than I should have.”
“I thought you might.”
He looked at her, caught by the warmth in her voice.
“That's a generous conclusion from a conversation that began with you accusing me of using you.”
“You admitted it.”
“And that helped?”
“Yes.” She smoothed a fold of her tunic. “More than pretending I was foolish to notice would have.”
He looked at her hand beside the cup. She had asked him a plain question when he arrived. He had nearly spent their whole conversation avoiding the answer.
“There is something else you should know. About why I stopped.”
Her fingers went still. “Roemary?”
“You.” He turned toward her. “My armor has been responding to you since I saw you on the ramp. Before the explosion.”
Sereya glanced at his shoulders. “I wondered what happened to your robes.”
“I was wondering the same thing. Rather less sensibly.”
“What does it mean?”
The practiced answer would have been easier. A little science, a little charm. He had given enough speeches today.
Yet that's not what came out. Not for her.
“You're my mate, Sereya. My body recognized you before I had the sense to believe it.”
She stared at him. He made himself wait.
“Like Khalzin and Janae?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn't come to me.”
“I was about to. Then the platform broke. Afterward I blamed the danger, the shock. Until you were sitting downstairs drinking tea and I could barely remember why I had entered the room.”
“You caught your sleeve.”
“You noticed that too.”
Her mouth trembled toward a smile. Then she looked down at the cup between them.
“You sound surprised.”
“I went to support Khalzin. I thought I could decide whether anything happened to me. I've been very confident about it, in front of people who will enjoy reminding me.”
She let out a small breath. “And now?”
“Now I'm asking whether you will have me.”
The only sound was the water gurgling in the basin. It seemed to echo between them as he waited for her response.
Why did it feel like an eternity?
She watched his face for so long that he resisted the urge to explain himself again.
“Courtship,” she said at last. “That's what follows the declaration.”
“If you accept. We make the commitment, then learn each other. I am offering to be your mate. That means my life, Sereya. I don't mean an evening.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then lifted. “Would I have to go with you tonight?”
“No. We can begin by sitting here.”
“I don't know how to do this.”
“Neither do I. I've been wrong about the part I thought I understood.”
She laughed once, shakily. He wanted to take her hand. He kept his own on his knee.
“You hardly know me.”
“I want to. I like the woman who caught me trying to arrange another pot of tea. I would like to discover what else you have to say when you stop being polite to me.”
“That could be a great deal.”
“I hope so.”
She looked toward the path. For a moment he thought she might stand. Instead she moved the cup to her other side and put her uninjured hand in the space it had occupied.
“I choose you too,” she said. “I want to enter Courtship with you.”
He covered her hand, slowly enough to see her fingers lift to meet his. The pressure of her palm went through him, and he had to take a breath before he trusted his voice.
“Then we are in Courtship.”
Her thumb moved over his. “You may have to remind me that this happened.”
“Gladly.”
“Without making a speech every time.”
He laughed. Her hand stayed in his until she reached for her cup.
He let that settle. Then his comm vibrated against his wrist.
For once he resented it before checking the message.
Still no readings from the emergency office. Another request for patience.
Sereya saw enough in his face to start gathering her cup.
“You have work.”
“I do.”
“Thank you for sitting with me.”
She said it carefully, preparing the end before he could. Dhomhes stood, then waited while she did the same.
“Would you like to do it again?”
Her eyes lifted to his.
“The sitting?”
“The conversation. I could manage it standing, if you preferred.”
That almost earned another laugh.
“Just us?”
“Just us.”
She looked down at the cup in her hand. Her thumb moved once along its rim.
“Yes,” she said. “I would.”
Dhomhes had made agreements that shifted fortunes. He had never been quite so pleased with one syllable.
From the upper path came the brisk sound of footsteps.
Sereya heard them too. Her smile faded before Roemary came into view.
“There you are,” Roemary said.
She was looking at him.